Sentinel - Progression Series 06 Day of Reckoning Page 4

  Up ahead, he could see small rays of light slicing through the darkness. As they drew nearer, he could tell that the light came from inside a mausoleum. He tensed, his gaze sweeping the area, looking for help. But there were no other visitors in the cemetery; he was alone with Grant. Roughly, Grant pushed at the mausoleum door and forced Blair into the small structure.

  Inside, sitting in the middle of the room, was a large granite vault, the lid shoved sideways, open just far enough to allow someone to slip inside. Blair stumbled to a halt, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Grant had told him what he had planned, but seeing it like this...

  He began shaking his head from side to side, backing away. "No," he breathed, fighting against the hold on his arm, panic welling within him. "No!" But his second cry of denial turned into a scream of pain as Grant applied the stun gun to Blair's left hip. His knees buckled as darkness reached out to claim him....

  ....A moan escaped his lips, the sound echoing softly, oddly around him. Blair shifted slightly, his position awkward, uncomfortable. He lay on his back, the ground cold and hard against his back, his hands pinned beneath him. He moaned again, his mind sluggish, confused... and pulled at his wrists. Something held them together and no matter how hard he pulled, he could not move them, could not seem to draw his arms out from under him. What's going on? But even as the question formed in his mind, he remembered... Grant!

  The memory of his abduction and the ride to the cemetery slammed into him, brought him fully awake. His eyes snapped open... and his worst fear was confirmed.

  Blair lay inside the granite tomb, the small opening above his head supplying the only light. He started to sit up, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. I've got to get out of here! I've got to--

  His thoughts were cut off as the opening above him was suddenly blocked by a looming figure. Marcus Grant stared down at Blair, satisfaction burning behind his eyes. "I thought I heard you moving around in there. Welcome back, Dr. Sandburg."

  Blair swallowed hard, his throat dry. He knew that in only a short time, Grant would seal the tomb shut, trapping him inside. "Please," he whispered, desperation gnawing at him. "Please don't do this." He stared up at the man who was now leaning casually over the side of the tomb, watching him with only marginal interest. "I'll... I'll talk to Jim. I'll get him to leave you alone. Just let me go. Please."

  Grant sighed as he stared down at his prisoner. "I wish I could, but I'll let you in on a little secret, Dr. Sandburg." He leaned closer and lowered his voice, as if sharing a confidence with his hostage. "I have been looking forward to this for weeks."

  Blair closed his eyes, his mind racing, trying to come with something, anything that would change this man's mind. "I... I thought you didn't want to kill me right away," he said, his voice trembling slightly. He looked up at Grant again. "You close this thing up and I'll suffocate."

  "No, you won't. Well, not right away at least." The doctor held up a finger. "Hold on. I'll show you." He disappeared for a second.

  Blair struggled to sit up, pushing with his hands, gritting his teeth with the effort. Some part of him knew that it was pointless to try and get out, that Grant would just overpower him and force him back inside. But he had to try; he couldn't just lie here and wait for whatever the doctor had planned for him.

  Grant reappeared before Blair could get anywhere near the small opening. Scowling down at him, he reached in and pushed Blair flat on his back. "Don't make me stun you again," he warned. Seconds later, the doctor lifted two oxygen tanks over the side of the vault, placing them next to Blair's head.

  Blair shifted slightly, twisting around until he could see the tanks beside him. They were secured together by duct tape, a single oxygen mask dangling off the side.

  "See? Oxygen," Grant explained smugly. "You won't suffocate. At least not for several hours."

  Blair's gaze was drawn to a small timer attached to the front of the tanks. It was set for sixteen hours.

  "That's how much air you have," Grant explained, reaching over to tap at the glass gauge with his fingertip. "Eight hours per tank. I rigged the switchover myself." His brow furrowed. "I hope I did it right," he muttered. "I guess you'll know in eight hours, huh?"

  A hard knot of fear twisted Blair's stomach. "Grant-"

  "This thing lights up," Grant said, tapping the face of the timer again. "I wanted you to be able to keep track of your air supply." He turned his attention back to Blair, looking down at him benignly. "Don't you think this is fitting? I mean, last time it was so messy out in that field, in the dirt. But this? You have to admit that if you have to get buried alive, this is by far the better method."

  Blair's heart beat hard against his ribcage. He's going to do this. He's really going to do this! Somewhere in the back of his mind, Blair had been hoping that Grant was simply bluffing. That he was just trying to prove how easily he could do something like this. But as Blair stared up into his cold eyes, he knew... this was no bluff. Marcus Grant was about to seal him inside the tomb and walk away.

  "At least untie me!" he blurted out, shifting where he lay, pulling desperately at the tape locking his wrists behind his back.

  Grant raised an eyebrow. "I'm doing you a favor by leaving that tape on. Take it off and I think you'd be tempted to fiddle with these tanks, and I can tell you right now--that's not a good idea. But if I leave it on, you have no choice but to lie there quietly." He smiled widely. "See how considerate I am?" He laughed and, reaching over the edge, grabbed up the mask. Holding it over Blair's mouth and nose, he secured it in place with a plastic band that he slipped around his captive's head. Then he pushed a button on the timer, initiating the countdown before flipping another switch that turned on the first tank.

  Cool air brushed against Blair's face. "Please," he whispered, his chest tight with fear. "You've made your point. You don't have to do this."

  "That's true. I don't." Grant let out a long, satisfied breath. "I just so desperately want to." He stepped back and Blair heard the sound of stone scraping against stone as he began to push the granite lid into place.

  "No!" Blair pulled at his wrists, twisting to the side, grunting with the effort.

  The grinding sound stopped. Grant leaned over the side again. "A little advice," he said, watching Blair's useless struggles, amusement lighting his eyes. "I wouldn't move around too much once I close this thing up because if you knock that mask off... well, that would be unfortunate, now wouldn't it?"

  Blair stopped moving. He lay on his back and watched as the opening above him grew smaller and smaller, the tiny square of light diminishing then disappearing altogether. Finally, there was a heavy thudding sound as the stone slipped into place, sealing the tomb tight.

  Thick darkness pressed in on Blair and he shuddered as a cold chill stole over him. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the side, to the only light he had. The timer flashed through the passing seconds, rapidly counting down the amount of air that Blair had remaining.

  Part Three

  Simon leaned back in his desk chair and exhaled a long, frustrated sigh. "All right, Henri," he spoke wearily into the phone. "Thanks for the update. I'll pass it along to Jim."

  Leaning forward, he placed the receiver in its cradle and looked up at Ellison, who was standing in front of his desk. Barely controlled anxiety stiffened Jim's posture; worry and a lack of sleep gave his unshaven face a haggard appearance.

  "Anything?" the detective demanded as Naomi walked up to stand beside him. Together, the two stared down at the captain, waiting for the results of Brown's phone call.

  Slowly, Simon shook his head. "Brown finally tracked down Grant's father--he's at a business meeting in Tampa. He claims he hasn't heard from his son since he left the states, and therefore didn't know he was back in Cascade."

  "Great!" Jim spat out.

  "Jim, just take it easy. Maybe we'll get lucky when the banks and airlines open for business."

  "This is getting us nowhere," Jim said. "Bank records... airline
tickets... none of those things will tell us what we really need to know--where Grant is now, where Blair is now!" Jim scrubbed his hands across his face. "I need to get out of here," he said, frustrated. He moved quickly toward the door. "I need to find Blair."

  "You need to stay where you are and try to calm down!" Simon warned, standing and moving to intercept Jim. He reached out and placed his hand against the detective's shoulder. "You know Grant will call as soon as he's ready to continue his little game." Simon lowered his voice, softened his tone in hopes of assuaging some of Ellison's anxiety: "You said it yourself, Jim--Grant's playing a game. And as long as he's playing that game, Blair will remain alive." He moved his hand to the top of Jim's shoulder and squeezed firmly. "We'll find him, Jim. Whatever it takes, we'll find him."

  Jim exhaled a weary breath, gave Simon a curt nod, then moved across to the windows that lined the far side of the captain's office. Simon, assured that Jim would remain where he was--for a while, at least--turned to Naomi. "Ms. Sandburg, you've been up all night." He glanced at his wristwatch, groaning inwardly as he read the time there: 5:02 a.m. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to go to your hotel? Get some rest?"

  Naomi shook her head adamantly. "I'm not going anywhere until my son is found."

  Simon sighed and nodded at her. "Very well."

  Sinking into his desk chair again, Simon surveyed the two people holding vigil in his office. Six hours--it had been six hours since Jim had come home to find Blair missing, since he had received Grant's taunting phone call. And six hours since Jim had called Simon, filling him in on the situation and asking him to meet him at the station.

  Detectives Brown and Rafe had been roused from their beds with orders to locate and question Gerald Grant, and Jim and Naomi had stationed themselves in Simon's office, pacing and worrying the hours away. The night had dragged on, seeming almost interminable at times. Marcus Grant's silence across the lengthening hours--along with innumerable cups of coffee--had only served to increase the anxiety level of Blair's partner and mother, and Simon's as well.

  "Why doesn't he call!" Jim pounded his fist against the window frame before turning to face his captain.

  "Jim..." Simon warned, knowing the detective was on the verge of losing control completely. "I told you to calm down."

  "I can't calm down!" Jim paced to the office door, then back to the windows before stalking up to the captain's desk. His gaze darted to Naomi, who had taken a seat at the far end of the conference table. "He's had him all night, Simon," he whispered fiercely. "All I keep thinking is what has he been doing to Blair all night? Has he hurt him? Is he hurting him right now?"

  "Jim." Simon pushed to his feet, his palms flat against his desktop. "You can't think like that. It doesn't do Sandburg any good."

  "Well, neither does standing in this office, waiting for that bastard to call!"

  Jim's voice had risen again, prompting Naomi to get up from her seat and join the two men at Simon's desk. Traces of tears lined her cheeks, and her wide, expressive eyes held a haunted look. "What if he never calls again?" she asked in a near whisper, directing her question to both men.

  "Ms. Sandburg," Simon soothed, moving to her and placing his arm around her shoulder, directing her back to the chair she had just vacated. "Please, sit down." Leaning over her, he grasped her shoulder gently. "I'm sure he'll call. I know it's hard to wait, but believe me--we know how this man works. He'll call as soon as he's ready to resume his game."

  "And he won't hurt Blair in the meantime?"

  Simon shook his head. "No."

  She stared up at the captain, challenge slowly overriding the sorrow in her wide eyes. "Can you promise me that, Captain Banks?"

  Simon met her gaze, wishing he could quote absolutes, knowing he couldn't. "No," he whispered at last. "I can't promise you that..."

  Naomi's eyes filled with tears and she leaned away from Simon, pulling her legs up into the chair and folding her arms around her knees. Looking toward the windows, she again began to cry softly.

  An uneasy silence descended upon the room--silence that was soon broken by the ringing of Jim's cell phone. Naomi sprang to her feet, crossing the room quickly to stand beside Jim; Simon followed her, watched as Jim flipped the phone open and spoke into the receiver. "I want to talk to Blair," the detective demanded without preamble.

  As Simon watched, Jim rubbed wearily at his eyes. The detective stood stiffly, his mouth set in a grim line as he listened to Grant's instructions. "When and where?" he asked after a few moments. "I'll be there." Closing the phone, Jim pushed it into his pocket and moved over to the conference table. He pulled his gun from its holster and placed it on the table, then pulled his badge from his belt and lay it alongside his weapon.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Simon demanded, moving over to stand beside Jim, staring down at the gun and badge.

  "Grant wants to meet with me. Alone. No gun, no badge. And no backup."

  Simon shook his head. There was no way he was sending Jim out to meet with that maniac--not without some protection and proper backup. "Jim--"

  "He gave me no choice, Simon." He turned to face the captain, a plea for understanding in his troubled eyes. "And right now, he's holding all the cards."

  "And you're just helping him stack the deck in his favor if you agree to meet him alone."

  "It can't be helped. I'll do whatever he wants--whatever it takes to get Blair back."

  Simon sighed deeply and reached up to remove his glasses. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he said, "At last tell me where you're going."

  "You won't send backup?"

  Simon looked at Jim, wavered for a moment, then finally shook his head. "No. I don't like this, Jim. I don't like this at all. But... I'll let you play this one out on your own."

  "Riverside Park, six o'clock," Jim relayed Grant's instructions. Turning, he made his way to the office door. He had just opened it when Naomi crossed to him and lay her hand on his arm. "Jim," she said, looking up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. "Bring my son back. Please."

  "I'm going to do everything in my power to do just that, Naomi," Jim promised her. With a quick glance over at Simon, the detective slipped through the office door and made his way across the bullpen, toward the elevator.

  Simon watched him go, then turned to the windows. The first subtle rays of dawn were just beginning to tease at the distant horizon. He glanced out at the expanse of the sky. It appeared it was going to be a clear day--bright, brisk, cloudless. But the thought of a beautiful day ahead did nothing to encourage him. Glancing down, he observed the street that ran in front of the police station, ran his gaze up and down the side avenues that branched away toward the center of town; the streets were dark, empty--morning rush hour still a long way away.

  Behind him, the sound of Naomi's soft sobbing tore at his heart. This was the very thing she had feared... the very reason she'd come to Cascade... the purpose of her efforts to take Blair away from police work. Simon rubbed at his tired eyes, turned away from the windows just in time to see Hannah Merrick, the station's newest Records employee, approaching his office. She carried a thick file in her arms.

  "Come in," he called out just as Hannah raised her hand to knock.

  "Captain Banks?" the clerk asked quietly as she opened Simon's door.

  Simon walked toward her. "You're here early, Hannah."

  "Yes, sir," she answered timidly, glancing over at Naomi for a brief moment. "Detective Brown called me at home, asked if I'd come in early and bring this file up to you. It's the case file on a Dr. Marcus Grant?"

  Simon reached out and took the file from her. "Thank you," Simon said. "I'm sorry we had to have you come in so early..."

  "It wasn't a problem, sir," she assured him. "Will there be anything else?"

  Simon shook his head. "Not right now. Thanks again."

  Offering him a tiny smile, Hannah left the office, closing Simon's door behind her.

  Simon placed the heavy file on the conf
erence table and opened the cover. Naomi stepped up beside him and Simon saw her gaze shift to the contents of the folder. He closed the cover slowly and turned to Naomi. "Ms. Sandburg, I'm sorry--this information really isn't for civilian perusal--"

  "Does that file contain information on my son?" Naomi interrupted, staring at Simon, eyes blazing.

  "Yes, it does."

  "My civilian son?"

  Simon sighed. "Yes."

  "Then I don't believe you have any right to deny my access to it, do you, Captain Banks?"

  /

  /

  /

  Jim steered his truck along the winding road that led through Riverside Park, heading toward the picnic area near the lake, as Grant had instructed. As he drove, his mind turned back to the image of the crumpled blanket he'd found on the sofa last night.

  Blair was in his own home. He should have been safe.

  A fierce, almost overwhelming sensation of protectiveness pressed in on Jim as he mentally envisioned Grant slipping into the loft and finding Blair asleep on that couch.

  He could have done anything to him in that moment.

  He jerked the truck to a stop beside the lake, his hands clenched tight around the steering wheel. Jim hated the idea of that arrogant bastard standing over Blair, watching him sleep, his partner totally vulnerable to Grant and his insane whims.

  If he hurt him... if he hurt him at all...

  Jim shut off the engine and stepped from the cab. A soft blanket of dew wet the grass, shimmering in the early morning sunshine. A cool wind wove its way around him, tugging at the hem of the long coat he wore. He inclined his head and looked around; the park was deserted except for two joggers and an elderly man walking a small dog.

  Jim conducted a slow, methodical scan, searching for any trace of his partner. Or Marcus Grant. He saw nothing. Cocking his head to one side, he sent out his hearing, hoping to find...